


Happy Medium

by jurassicparker



Series: South Of Sideways [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jurassicparker/pseuds/jurassicparker
Summary: I'm back. It's been about six months. I have no excuses. This isn't even a good chapter or anything, I don't know why it took so long to write. Next chapter will hopefully be out quicker. No promises. Feel free to yell at me in the comments. Enjoy.





	1. Darker Shade Of Black

_ I’m a little bit steady but still a little bit rolling stone _

_ I’m a little bit heaven but still a little bit flesh and bone _

_ Little found, little don’t know where I am _

_ I’m a little bit holy water but still a little bit burning man _

-"Burning Man"

Dierks Bentley

 

The front door to the Mystery Shack and Motor Repair slammed open and startled Gideon awake. As he swatted Waddles away from his head, where the pig had been nibbling on his ear, he sat up on his bed and rubbed his eyes. Had he fallen asleep while reading the Journal again?

He walked downstairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning something about carnivorous pigs - there was weirder stuff in Gravity Falls - and paused to burp. The taste of Skittles filled his mouth, and what seemed like a rainbow poured out of his mouth like a frosty breath on a winter day. It dissipated into the sun.

“I really hope that’s not permanent,” Gideon groaned to himself. It had been six days since the Corgon incident, and rainbows were still erupting from his… bodily orifices. It was kinda gross, but Mabel thought that it was cool.

He brightened at the thought of her. They had been texting daily, and tonight was a big night - their first date. He only hoped that her slightly-psychopathic brother wouldn’t find out. He really liked Mabel, and although he could be wrong, Gideon thought that for the first time, a girl really liked him.

The thought stopped in its place when he saw what the cat had dragged in. Pacifica was propping up a figure and yelling, blood covering her purple tank top. Her sweater was tied around his shoulder, looping around his armpit and his shoulder. It was stained in crimson.

“Paz, oh my god!” Gideon yelped as he helped her guide the figure to the couch. “What happened?!”

“I think…” she panted. “I think he’s dying.”

On the couch, Gideon’s veins ran ice-cold when he finally saw who it was.

Dipper Pines was bleeding out on Gideon’s couch.

 

THREE HOURS EARLIER

 

“Well, shit.”

Dipper kicked the tire of his bike dejectedly. Two hours ago, Mabel had found his bike in the woods and, in her own words, “placed it gently on the ground,” by which she meant that she had thrown it haphazardly onto the back lawn. It was covered in mud, leaves and something that looked suspiciously like squirrel poop. The red flames had gone a mild rust color. The seat, which had been freshly washed six days ago, was caked in waste.

He was _not_ happy about this. But at least it gave him something to do, which would be a nice change of pace.

For the last six days, Dipper had mostly remained in his room, only coming out for show practice, helping with Ford, and breakfast. Heartbreak be damned, Stan’s waffles were the best thing ever.

Okay, “heartbreak” was probably too strong of a word. Disappointment? Yeah, that was a bit closer. Was he vaguely sad about the fact that the only human that he had been friendly to in six years had yelled at him to stay away from her and stormed off? Dipper was a little annoyed by that, sure.

He had finally gotten done with his moping, though, and was ready to rejoin the world. First things first, he thought to himself as he paced through the backyard. Dipper grabbed his cell phone - with a blue phone case, naturally - out of his pocket and called the repairman.

“Hey, Mister Ramirez, it’s Dipper Pines. Any chance I could make an appointment for today? My bike is, uh, a little messed up.”

“Oh, hey, dude!” One thing that Dipper always appreciated was Soos’s omnipresent cheerfulness. “Yeah, sure I can hook you up with a fixup! Just gotta call boss-man. I’ll call back in fifteen, dude.”

“Alright. Thanks, Mister Ramirez.”

“Call me Soos, dude!” The line went dead.

“Well, that went well,” Dipper said. The day was going well so far, although it was pretty short. Dipper looked at the clock on his phone. Eight o’clock. Usually, his sister would be up at 7:30, but last night, she had had her girlfriends over and they hadn’t gone to sleep… ever, now that Dipper thought about it. Sure enough, as he walked inside, he had to take a running leap over Grenda, who was knocked out at the door between the kitchen and the living room, snoring like a sumo wrestler/semi truck hybrid. Candy was draped over the couch, and Mabel had curled up on the dining room table with Sharpie markings covering her face.

Dipper smirked, grabbed a Sharpie, drew a dick on her forehead, took a picture, and strolled out the door.

It was a beautiful day. If Dipper could whistle, he would, but as it was, he just hummed the theme song to Duck-Tective.

He was dressed in his blue hoodie and cargo shorts. Dipper had combed his bangs down a bit to hide his birthmark. As he opened the door to the El Burro and sidled into a booth, a waitress walked over, not looking up from her phone. “Welcome to El Burro,” she said flatly as her fingers typed away. “It’s the greatest Mexican restaurant this side of Portland.”

“It’s the only Mexican restaurant.”

“My name is Tambry and I’ll be your server tonight.”

“Tonight? It’s 8:30 in the morning.”

“And you’re the one eating Mexican at 8:30 in the morning.” She still hadn’t looked up from her phone.

 _Fair point_. “I'll have an enchilada, please.”

As Tambry the suspiciously non-Mexican waitress walked away, having never looked up from her phone, Dipper’s mind went back to the bike. It was obviously fixable, but his mechanical skills were worse than non-existent. That wasn’t much of an exaggeration - he had attempted to replace the motor of the boat that Stan had bought and accidentally turned the entire boat into a Transformer. One that shot lasers. And one that now roamed the lakeside, looking for Dipper for vengeance.

Dipper didn’t swim much anymore.

-

“Call me Soos, dude!” Soos said into the phone, then hung up. He whistled as he got out of bed, pulling on his mechanic’s jumpsuit. Emblazoned on the back was the letters GFM - Gravity Falls Mechanics.

Next to him, a figure yawned and rose up. As she sat on the bed, Melody rubbed her eyes and said, “Morning, babe.”

“Hey, beautiful!” Soos replied cheerfully. “Gotta get going to work. Dipper Pines broke his bike again!”

“Dipper Pines…” Melody tried to remember who that was in her early morning haze. When she succeeded, she groaned and fell back. “That little jerk.”

“You know him?”

“Know him? Everyone knows him. His family ruined my family!” She hesitated for a second. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t _his_ fault, but I still have a grudge!”

“He’s still my favorite customer, though. Hey, isn’t he the same age as that friend of yours? What was her name again?”

“Pacifica? Yeah, they really hit it off, until Pacifica went nuts.”

“Nuts?”

One thing that Melody always appreciated about her boyfriend was his willingness to listen. As she pulled her question mark T-shirt on, she explained. “See, we fought a giant Corgi that farts rainbows together after it put Gideon in a coma.”

Another thing that she appreciated was his ability to accept those kinds of sentences as ones that were said like an everyday thing. He gestured for her to go on.

“Well, those two were really hitting it off - you know, arguing-slash-flirting. Anyway, we ended up outside his house, and then she told him to stay away from her and Gideon, then she stormed off.” She shrugged as she pulled pants on. “Dipper was as surprised as I was.”

Soos listened to her tale in silence. When his girlfriend finished, he nodded once. “I know just what to do about this,” he said gravely - well, as gravely as it gets from a ray of sunshine in human form. He pulled his cell phone out again and called Dipper. “Dipdop!”

“Yo,” came the response.

“So, problem. We couldn’t get an appointment for you, but I do have a better idea. You know the other mechanic, on the other side of town?”

“The Mystery Shack And Motor Repair?”

“That’s the one. Well, they’re free this afternoon. Any chance you could get your bike fixed there?”

There was a muffled curse on the other end. “Yeah, sure, Mr. Rami-Soos. Thanks.”

“Sorry, dude!”

“S’alright.” The line went dead.

“Mission accomplished,” Soos told Melody, grinning.

She stared at him. “You are _incredibly_ evil.”

Soos took his hat off and pressed it to his chest. “My evilness is both a blessing and a curse,” he said solemnly.

“You know, you’re cute when you’re evil. See you tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, dude.” Soos kissed her on the forehead and held the door open for her as she left.

His phone rang again. “What’s up, dog?”

“RAMIREZ!” the voice on the other end yelled. “DID YOU SERIOUSLY GIVE ONE OF MY CLIENTS TO ANOTHER MECHANIC?!”

It was gonna be a long day at work.

-

Dipper put the phone down and groaned. His chimichanga (the waitress had gotten the order wrong) didn’t look quite so appetizing.

This was gonna _suck_.

As he paid for his order (he left a low tip) and hoisted himself out of his seat, Dipper tried to think of what to say. _Sorry for…_ Wait, why the hell did he have to apologize? She’s the one who went psycho.

Right?

-

Pacifica Northwest woke up from a _really_ weird dream and immediately swore to never, ever talk about it ever again. Ever.

The clock on her table read 9:00. She had slept in. Pacifica stretched and yawned. She whistled the tune to Duck-Tective as she pulled some clothes on. Paz had decided to wear her bright green “Hamsteriffic!” sweater and some cargo shorts. “Well,” she noted as she looked herself in the mirror, “this is certainly a fashion statement.”

She bounced her way down the stairs into the kitchen. Gideon was asleep on the couch, phone on his chest. Pacifica poked him a few times to wake him up.

“Hrmmagazzar,” he mumbled as he swatted at her hand. “I’m awake, I’m awake, I’ve never slept a day in my life.”

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Pacifica wandered off to the kitchen to make some toast, which was, by her own admission, the only type of food that she could make and not destroy the kitchen. Even making cereal wasn’t safe, and the fire department hadn’t believed her when she told them that.

“Doo doo doo, makin’ breakfast…” she hummed to herself as she plugged in the toaster. Pacifica prayed that it wouldn’t explode on her like the blender had, and was pleasantly surprised.

Gideon sat at the counter and rubbed his eyes. “Ergh. I was up all night texting.”

“You?” Pacifica asked incredulously. “Texting? Another human?”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Yeah, yeah. A human _girl_ , too.”

“Who - oh.” Pacifica remembered the events of a few days ago. “Mabel. She seemed nice. We didn’t really get to talk.”

“She’s really nice. A little bit psycho. You both hate her brother, so you have that in common.”

“That creep. You said he bullied you, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Gideon hesitated, but Pacifica interrupted.

“He picks on you, I don’t like him. Story’s over.”

“He’s not as bad as I thought he was,” Gideon said thoughtfully. “Dipper could have just let me die. There’s something good underneath all of that douchebagginess.”

Pacifica was about to answer, but the phone rang. “Bud!” she hollered as the toast popped out of the toaster. “Phone’s ringing!”

From his bedroom, Bud said something along the lines of, “Hrgmrmrmmmrm,” which Pacifica translated to, “Get it yourself.”

Pacifica answered the phone, set on it speaker, and said in her best impression of Bud, “Thank you for calling the Mystery Shack and Motor Repair, how can we rip you off today?” Gideon snickered.

A male voice came from the receiver. “Yeah, hi, can I talk to Bud Gleeful?” The voice was deep and hesitant, like he didn’t really want to be calling here.

It was Dipper Pines’s voice.

Ah, crap.

Gideon and Pacifica both looked at the phone, then at each other in horror. “Speaking,” Pacifica said in the same deep voice.

“I’d like to get a repair for my bike, is there any way I could schedule an appointment?” The voice sounded almost bored, but still polite.

“Of course, sir. Does 3:30 work?”

“Sounds good. Thank you.”

“Can I get a name for the appointment?” Pacifica already knew it was, of course, but still felt obligated.

“Dipper Pines. See you at 3:30.” The line went dead.

For the next thirty seconds, the silence was overbearing, until Gideon broke with a succinct, “Holy _shit_.”

Pacifica felt like swearing too, but she managed to contain it to a deep exhale. “What are we gonna do?”

“We’re gonna fix his bike is what we’re gonna do,” Gideon said confidently. “We’re gonna bury the hatchet with him, and you’re gonna talk to him like a normal teenage girl.”

“Uh huh,” Pacifica said, nodding. “Hey, Bud! Is there any errands you need to do at around 3:15?”

“Bank!” came the short reply.

“ _Or_ I could go to the bank at 3:15 and never have to talk to him ever again.”

“You can’t keep running from John, Pacifica.” Gideon said it so suddenly and so matter-of-fact that Pacifica about fell off of her chair.

“I am not running from him!” Pacifica said defensively. “I’m just… reluctant.”

Gideon faced Pacifica and looked her dead in the eye. “I get it, okay? You don’t want another incident like him. I’ve never had to live through what you did, so take my opinion for what it’s worth. John will _never_ happen again. Getting feelings for someone else isn’t the worst thing ever. It’s bound to happen. You can’t keep trying to escape.”

“Look-”

“No, Pacifica, listen. You like someone, and that’s good. It will help you move on, help you forget. But staying stuck on him? That’s just giving him the satisfaction that he doesn’t deserve.”

Pacifica was quiet, then she hopped up and went outside in silence, leaving her half-eaten toast behind her.

-

“Does she seriously think that she’s good at imitating voices?” Dipper asked no one as he sat on his bed. He had recognized her voice instantly, mainly because she was _terrible_ at pretending to be a full-grown man, but he had played along because he wanted to get it over with as quickly and painlessly as possible.

He probably _could_ have let Ford take a look at it, but he didn’t trust the old man to not put a rocket thruster or a self-destruct mechanism or a little wicker basket on it. He shuddered at the last one.

No, Dipper needed an actual mechanic. The girl whose name he refused to say seemed like she was pretty knowledgeable at machines. She would have to do-

“Hey, kid!” Stan yelled as he barged in. Dipper yelped and snapped out of his thoughts.

“Stan! Knock first! I could have been, I don't know, masturbating or something!”

“Does ‘something’ mean listening to Katy Perry?” Stan knew that he had the kid boxed in. “You got a chair for an old man? I gotta talk to ya.”

Dipper gestured to the other side of the room, where a well-used beanbag chair sat forlornly, as if it was terrified of the elderly rear end that was about to be placed upon it. Stan plopped down and leaned forward. He was dressed in his suit, as usual, and his gray hair shined in the sunlight streaming in through the window.

“Look, kid,” he began. “I heard that you had some girl troubles.”

“Oh god.”

“Shut up and let me finish. Did you like the girl?”

“Did Mabel put you up to this? I told her to stay out of this.”

“Do you like her?”

“She was alright.”

“I knew an alright girl once,” Stan said, his eyes flashing back to when he was young. Dipper wondered how long ago that was. Fifties, maybe? Forties? Ancient Egypt? Maybe the Jurassic period? _And on the eighth day, God made Stan Pines. It all went downhill from there._

Dipper told the voice in his head to shut up and listen.

“Her name was Carla. Met her when I was running naked through Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. She saw me and didn’t run away screaming. I knew it was love at first sight.”

“Why were you running naked through the town?”

“Not important, kid. We started talking, and every day, I fell a little more for her. Eventually, I bought a ring, decided to pop the question. But I was waiting for the right moment, took too long, and she met Shermie.”

“She met Granddad?”

“She’s your grandma, kid. Died a year before you and Kid Number Two were born. Moral of the story-”

“Run naked through the town until I see her and she falls in love with me. Got it,” Dipper said sardonically.

“I mean, if you think it’ll work. But don’t take too long.” He stood up with a groan. His back popped and crackled. “That reminds me, you might need to run to the bank. Your card is running low on cash.”

“I’ll do that in a few.” Stan grunted and went to leave, but Dipper said, “Hey Stan?”

He turned around.

“Thanks.”

Stan nodded and walked away.

_Bank closes at five, and your appointment is at 3:30. Might as well stop by there on your way to the Mystery Shack._

“Good plan, me.” Dipper looked at the clock. It was 10:00. “Nap time!”

Dipper laid his head down on the pillow and closed his eyes. Five minutes later, he felt something crawling on his arm. He sat up and looked. On his arm was a fuzzy brown thing with bright red eyes and fangs. “What the fu-”

With a _chomp_ , the Hampire clamped down on his forearm and stayed there.

“GET IT OFF!” Dipper swung his arm around, trying to dislodge it. It hung tight, snarling at him ferociously. Eventually, Dipper’s mind slowed, and he tried to pull the demonic rodent off. He realized that the freaking rat was gonna tear off his skin before letting go.

Dipper sighed, resigned, and walked downstairs. Mabel was checking under the couch. “Here, hamster hamster hamster!” she called, like she was looking for a lost dog. She saw Dipper and stood up. “Ford lost the Hampire. You seen it anywhere?”

In response, Dipper held up his arm. The little bastard was still hanging there. “Pretty sure it’s got my scent.”

Mabel inspected the hamster. It growled at her. “How does your arm feel?”

“Tired, kinda weak. It’s starting to get pale.”

Mabel poked it. “Does the Hampire look… bigger to you?”

Dipper and Mabel looked at each other, then the hamster. Sure enough, it was the size of a guinea pig. “That’s… not a good sign,” Dipper said slowly.

Five minutes later, Dipper and Mabel stepped off of the elevator to Ford’s lab. Dipper’s arm was numb.

“Oh, you found it!” Ford shouted from the other side. The portal was still wrecked, but he was slowly repairing it. Ford put his goggles up and jogged over. He held Dipper’s arm carefully and inspected the rodent. “It’s growing healthily, that’s a good sign!”

“Ford,” Dipper said through gritted teeth. “Get. It. Off.”

“Please,” Mabel added.

“Hmm?” Ford looked up, temporarily distracted. “Oh, right! Apologies.” He dug around in his pockets and pulled out a cross and a pair of pliers. Ford grabbed the Hampire and waved the cross around. Immediately, the guinea-pig-sized hamster let go and shrieked in pain.

“Don’t hurt him!” Mabel cried.

“Kill that thing!” Dipper shouted.

“Relax, sweetie,” Ford said, patting Mabel on the head. “Just a momentary shock.” He dropped the hamster in the same cage, which now had a conspicuous hole in the bottom. “And I can’t _kill_ it. It’s a new species! Who knows what it could do?”

“It could amputate my arm,” Dipper said flatly as he inspected his wound. There were two little holes where it had been biting down.

“Oh please. Blood flows back!”

The Hampire clawed at the cage and roared demonically. Or at least as demonically as a hamster could roar, anyway. Mabel poked its cage. “It’s so _cute_!” she cooed. “Its eyes are filled with rage! Ford, can I keep it in my room?”

“Apologies, dear,” Ford said absentmindedly as he looked over Dipper’s wound. Pulling a ball of cotton and some iodine from another one of his pockets, he started dabbing on the bite. “It needs to stay down here with me for future tests.”

“What would you do with a vampire hamster, anyway?” Dipper asked, wincing. “Feed your boyfriends to it?”

“Yep!”

Yet again, Dipper made a note about how terrifying his sister was.

“Okey dokey,” Ford said as he finished cleaning up. “It should be good for now, but you might wanna get a bandage on it. I think we have them upstairs, right?”

“Yep. Thanks, Ford. I think I’m gonna need to head to the bank. You gonna need any help for the rest of the day?”

“No, but thank you. I’m sure that Stanley will want to practice your act at around six.” With that, Ford walked back to the portal.

“Bye, Ford!” Mabel called. He waved half-heartedly over his shoulder.

Back in the kitchen, Mabel stuck another smiley-face Band-Aid on Dipper’s arm. His forearm was covered in them. Dipper had started to protest, but long ago, he had learned to just let it happen. “And, done!” Mabel announced as she smacked one on his forehead. “Lookin’ fabulous!”

“Thanks, Mab,” Dipper sighed. He could peel them all off later. “See you at practice tonight.”

“No, you won’t, bro bro,” Mabel replied. “I got me a date tonight!”

“With Gideon?”

“Yup!”

“I don’t have to drop you off or pick you up or anything, right?”

“We’re walking. You don’t have to see Pacifica.”

The name sent a chill down Dipper’s spine. “I wasn’t-”

“Dip, it’s fine, really. I get that she freaked out, but sooner or later, one of you is gonna have to make a move to wreck - recon - what’s that word again?”

“Reconcile?”

“Yeah, that. As a good starting point, I would suggest being nicer to Gideon so she has one less reason to not talk to you.”

“Fair point.”

Dipper looked at the clock. Man, it was two o'clock already? “I’m gonna go work out for an hour, then run to the bank. Twin bump?” He stuck his fist out.

“Twin bump.” Mabel tapped his fist with one of her own.

-

Pacifica put down the wrench and slid out from underneath the Cabo, humming along to The Rolling Stones as it blared from her radio. The undercarriage needed washing, and while she was down there, she found that the oil pan was dented. So Pacifica decided to pass the time with an impromptu repair session.

She took off her gloves and wiped an arm against her forehead. The oil stain could be dealt with later. “Doo doo doo doo, heartbreaker,” Pacifica sang as she cleaned up the workstation. As she put the screwdrivers back into the toolbox, she kicked the jack that held the car up. It lowered itself to the ground.

Looking in the mirror, she groaned when she saw the rust stain on her jumpsuit. “Gonna have to clean that up,” Pacifica muttered. She slid the creeper back underneath the shelf and stretched. The Cabo was looking better and better every day. Headlights had been replaced, transmissions had been updated and air fresheners had been installed.

“Heartbreaker, you’re a heartbreaker…” Pacifica scatted as she turned off the radio. She took off her work boots and left them on the perch. Walking inside, she slung her nasty jumpsuit into the laundry room.

“Pacifica!” Gideon yelled from his room. “I need some advice!”

“I’m comin’!” Pacifica grabbed an apple and started heading upstairs. “You better have clothes on.”

“That’s the problem,” Gideon said solemnly as he looked in his closet. “What should I wear tonight?”

“Well…” Pacifica looked in his closet. She saw a lot of orange t-shirts and blue vests. “As your cousin, I cannot let you wear a vest on your first date. That would be against my morals. Where are you going?”

“Ace of Clubs Bar and Grill.”

“Okay, so a tie is probably too much.”

“I’ll wear anything, I just want her to have a good first impression?”

“Gideon, from the way she looked at you a few days ago, you could wear a loincloth and she’d still fall all over you. Now - do you have any flannel?”

An hour later, she had settled on an outfit for him. A red plaid button-up, sleeves unrolled, and jeans. “How do I look?” Gideon asked, turning around and looking at himself in the mirror.

“Lookin’ like a snack, cuz. Might wanna go fix your hair, though.” It was not in its usual pompadour, instead lying on his back. He had tied it in a ponytail, and with the flannel, Gideon looked like a hippy.

 _I don’t really have any room to talk about hippies, I am one_ , she thought to herself. _So is my aunt and so were Mom and Dad and OKAY! MOVING ON!_

Gideon ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, that might take a while.” He burped, and a rainbow flew out of his mouth. “Okay, is this permanent?”

Pacifica shrugged. “Not sure, but try to keep it on the down-low. You don’t want to freak out everyone else at the restaurant.”

“Good point. You might wanna take off.”

Pacifica looked at the clock. Man, was it three o’clock already? “Alright, I’m gonna hoof it to town. Will I see you before you go on the date?”

“Yup. See you tonight!” Gideon walked down the hallway, leaving Pacifica in his room alone.

Waddles trotted into the room and nudged her leg. Pacifica sighed, picked him up, and cradled him like a baby. With a contented grunt, the pig rested his head on her shoulder.

“You wanna come with me, boy?” Pacifica considered taking him on the golf cart, but then remembered what the manager had said the last time Waddles had been allowed in the bank. He had only eaten a _couple_ hundred dollars…

“Alright, guess not.” She sighed again. Pacifica noticed that she sighed a lot lately. Eh, whatever. She was a teenage girl, it was her God-given right to be a little melodramatic every once in a while.

“What do you think, buddy? Should I talk to him or not? Should I stay or should I go now?”

Aaaaaand now that song was stuck in her head. “If I go there will be trouble… If I stay there will be double… so, Waddles, you gotta let me know…”

Instead of being a polite piggy and continuing on with the song, Waddles started eating her hair.

“Ew! Get off!” Pacifica had learned a while ago that pigs were like cats - you could go bowling with them and they’d be fine. Pacifica dropped Waddles like a hot potato, and he rolled the ground, squealing, and sprinted out the door.

She followed him and passed Bud in the hallway. “Have you seen Gideon anywhere?” he asked. “Haven’t seen him in a while. I just saw this well-dressed kid in a ponytail.”

“He’s in the bathroom. Is it okay if I take the golf cart to the bank?”

“Yeah, sure. Keys are on the counter. Be safe, yeah?”

“Of course. See you in a few hours.” Pacifica snagged the keys and went out the door, letting Waddles out with her.

As she clipped Waddles to the leash out front, she looked around. The gnomes had mostly been in hiding for a few weeks, which made her suspicious, but at least she didn’t hear the Hidebehind stalking her anymore. For the two days after the encounter, Pacifica had been looking behind her back, expecting to hear the demented maraca sound. She was paranoid about that, and she was always checking to see if Dipper was around.

That name brought up a flurry of emotions. She knew, deep down, that it was her fault that he was driven away. Pacifica had wondered about whether it was the right thing to do. On the one hand, he was dangerous, and sarcastic, and a bully towards Gideon. On the other hand, he was brave, he had saved her life and Gideon’s, and he was protective of his family.

He was also kinda cute, which, Pacifica told herself, didn’t matter.

The bank parking lot was empty when she pulled up, which was a little surprising. Walking in, the only person Pacifica saw was an older woman and her young son, and a short man in a leather jacket and glasses. He was the first in line at the teller, and Pacifica got behind him and waited patiently, checking her phone.

Her friends back home had been texting her nonstop, asking about the town (which she said was fun), the people (which she said were fascinating) and the boys (which she didn’t respond to). Pacifica’s lock screen wallpaper was a picture of her friends and her on the ocean, all on each other’s shoulders, with her at the top, grinning.

Pacifica missed her friends, and Florida, and her aunt and uncle, but she wasn’t ready to go back just yet.

The teller asked the man in front of her, bored, “How can I help you today?”

“I-I’d like t-to make a with-withdrawal, please,” the man stammered. He sounded nervous.

“How much, sir?”

“All of it?”

“Excuse me?”

The man whipped out a pistol and leveled it at her. “I said all of it,” he repeated, stammer gone and replaced by a cold determination.

Okay, Pacifica was ready to go back to Florida now.

“Everybody on the ground!” the man yelled, firing his gun in the air. The woman and her son hit the deck, screaming, with the mother covering her son’s body with her own.

Pacifica put her hands up peacefully. “Okay, okay, relax,” she said soothingly. “You don’t have to do this. Point the gun somewhere else-”

The man pointed the gun in her face.

“Okay, somewhere other than there, please.” Pacifica’s stomach was somewhere in the center of the earth by now.

His finger started to caress the trigger.

“Okay, I’ll just get down.” Pacifica did so.

“You touch that phone, the bullet goes in your hand,” he snarled, whipping around to the teller, who promptly dropped the receiver. “Start packing.” The robber pulled a leather sack out of nowhere and tossed it at her.

 _This is bad_ , Pacifica thought to herself, panicked. _There are kids here. Maybe he’ll just leave?_

The front door banged open, and a familiar voice yelled, “Oh my god, am I in a robbery?! This is so cool!”

Pacifica looked at who it was. “Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.”

-

At three o’clock, Dipper walked out of the gym in his sleeveless shirt and shorts. The other rats had spent a lot of the time nodding approvingly in his direction. Dipper could tell that he had won their respect, which was good, because his arm was still covered in smiley-face Band-Aids. He grabbed the bike from where he had put it at the front door and wheeled it downtown.

“Downtown” was too strong of a term. It was a few restaurants, a bank and a “gentleman’s club” that Stan often spent time at. No, it wasn’t a strip club, it was just a bar where old rich people gambled. Dipper found that out when he tried to sneak in when he was thirteen and was massively disappointed.

“I don’t know _whoooo’s_ gonna kiss you when I’m gone,” he sang off-key to himself. “So I’m gonna love you noowww… duh duh something...” Dipper didn’t know the words, he just wanted to sing something to distract himself.

The bike was a lot heavier after the workout than it was before, and what was usually a fifteen-minute walk turned into a thirty-minute one. He managed to drink a little bit of his Caimanade (blueberry-flavored, naturally), but he still felt pretty thirsty.

 _First thing you’re gonna do_ , he told himself, _is go to the gas station and grab yourself a soda or something._

He passed by the bank and was chaining up his bike when he heard it. With a bang, a gunshot went off inside of the bank and through the window. Dipper stared at the hole, then said, “Huh.”

 _People are in danger_.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he said, rolling his eyes at himself.

_You gonna help them?_

A week ago, he would have walked away. But now, Dipper found himself raring to go. Helping people felt good, even when cute blonde girls avoided him like the plague for days afterwards.

Of course, he wasn’t in this solely for his own joy. Dipper didn’t dislike people enough to let them die.

“Okay, how am I gonna do this?” he asked himself. “Sneak in? Walk in and burn his face off? Talk him out of it?”

_There could be kids in there. If you burn his face off, people could be hurt._

“Talk him out of it, it is!”

Dipper strolled up to the front door and with a kick that would make the guy from 300 proud, bashed it inwards. The robber was a short, bespectacled man with a large nose and a sketchy mustache.

“Oh my god,” he yelled, putting on a show of wonder and allowing a broad grin to stretch on his face, “am I in a robbery?! This is so cool!”

The man pointed the gun at him, but Dipper didn’t put his hands up. He surveyed the surrounding hostages. A mom and her son, okay. Bank teller, looking terrified, okay. The final hostage was blonde, female and familiar.

“Oh, you have gotta be kidding me.”

  



	2. Burnout

_ That’s when she said I don’t hate you, boy _

_ I just want to save you _

_ While there’s still something left to save… _

-Savior

Rise Against

 

_ Of all the banks being held up in all the world, he walks into mine, _ Pacifica thought.

_ Of all the banks being held up in all the world, I walk into hers, _ Dipper thought.

“Hands in the air!” the man yelled, and he pointed his gun at Dipper.  _ Better you than the kid, _ he thought to himself.

_ Better you than her _ .

Dipper didn’t put his hands in the air. “Sir,” he said, not dropping the megawatt grin he was sporting, “I just want you to know that this is so cool.” 

_ Oh my god,  _ Pacifica thought,  _ he’s going nuts.  _ From her perspective, the grin was a con man’s grin - loud and inviting. Why was he wearing it? Was he trying to lull the robber into a sense of security? Is he really that excited?

_ Oh my god if I don’t stop smiling I think I’m going to shit my pants _ , Dipper thought to himself. Stan had taught him the smile. He liked to think that he had perfected it more than Mabel had. She had more of a slasher smile, which, combined with a glint in her eyes, made her extraordinarily creepy.

Dipper’s smile made you want to trust him.

Mabel’s smile made you think that she was gonna dismember you.

To be fair, she usually was.

“I mean it!” the man shouted. Dipper noticed that his hands were trembling. Must have been his first bank robbery. “Down on the ground with the girl!”

“The girl?” Dipper asked, feigning ignorance. 

“Yes! Her!” The robber jerked his gun over at Pacifica, who, to her credit, didn’t flinch.

“Oh, that girl?” Dipper did the  _ what’s-up _ head nod. “Hey, Blondie.”

“You know her?”

“Know who?”

“The girl!”

“What girl?”

“That girl!”

“The mom? I’ve never met her.”

“ _ THE BLONDE ONE!” _

“What blonde girl?”

The robber fired into the ceiling. The mom screamed. The kid started weeping. Pacifica’s eyes widened. Dipper smirked.

“Congratulations, dude, you know how a gun works.”

His nonchalance threw the robber off. His knees were shaking, which Dipper thought was a little cliche, but whatever. He leveled the gun at Dipper again. “Next shot,” the robber attempted to threaten, “goes through your skull.”

Dipper gave a side look to Pacifica, rolling his eyes. “Look, Mr. Robber- I’m sorry, do you have a name?” he asked. “Calling you Mister Robber just makes me take you less seriously than I already do.”

“Call me… Determined,” the robber said confidently.

Pacifica, still kneeling on the side with her hands on her head, whistled sardonically. “Hope you weren’t planning on using that as a supervillain name.” 

Now Pacifica understood why Dipper mouthed off to everything - it was kinda fun. Dipper nodded appreciatively to her. 

The robber - sorry, Determined - seemed embarrassed now. “Of course not!” he snapped. 

“So what  _ would _ be your supervillain name?” Dipper asked.  _ Stalling _ , Pacifica thought.  _ He must have already called the police. _

_ Man, I sure wish I called the police,  _ Dipper thought. 

“Well, first of all, they would call me Doomsday,” Determined said with a tone that implied that he had put some deep thought into this, “and second, I’m not a supervillain, I'm just a guy that needs some money. And you two are the ones standing between me and my goal. So if I were you, I’d move out of the way.”

“It’s copyright,” Pacifica called.

“What?” Determined snapped as he turned to her, keeping his gun at Dipper.

“Doomsday. That name is the same as a guy at DC.”

“And this involves me how?”

“Oh, it doesn’t,” Pacifica replied, smiling sweetly. “I just wanted to keep you distracted.”

“To keep me wha-” Determined managed to squeeze out before Dipper punched him in the enormous nose.

There was a cracking noise, a squeal of pain, and blood flowing as Determined’s nose broke. With a wail, he swung the gun at Dipper blindly, slamming the pistol into his shoulder. Dipper winced as he staggered backward. The teller passed out on the spot. The mom screamed in fear. The kid screamed, “GET HIM!”

With a Xena-like yell, Pacifica shoulder-rushed Determined in the small of his back. He flew forward, yelling nasally. 

The robber fired blindly, and with a crash, the entire fish tank above the door exploded, dumping water everywhere - and on Dipper. He tried to roll out of the way, but he wasn’t quite fast enough.

“Who puts a fish tank right above a door?!”

-

In the year 1837, President Quentin Trembley, for his third amendment to the US Constitution, decreed that tanks of water shall be placed above the door of each house. This was done to save money on legally-mandated fire extinguishers, despite costing more. 

Naturally, this caused the national housefire average to rise into the thousands, and this policy was terminated when President Trembley “accidentally” fell into a container of peanut brittle.

Also naturally, the citizens of Gravity Falls ignored the policy cancellation because they had put, in the words of Mayor Befufftlefumper (who was one of President Trembley’s right-hand babies), “pwetty fissies in doowa!”

And that was that.

-

All of this went through Dipper’s mind, which he thought was strange. Here he was, facing a deranged, potentially deadly man with a gun, and he was thinking through history. 

He felt a cold breeze flowing into his wet back, and he touched the back of his shirt, only to find it missing. He pulled his hand back and it was covered in a strange red liquid. Dipper idly wondered why, until he looked around him.

Glass, blood, water, flopping fish, and shredded scraps of shirt surrounded him on the ground. His shirt hung off of him loosely, so Dipper simply tore it off, feeling a bit like a superhero. He wondered why he felt like he was moving in jelly. Blood loss, probably. 

Then Dipper saw the robber level the gun at Pacifica, and he moved.

Pacifica stared down the barrel of the gun fearlessly. At least, she hoped it was a fearless look on her face. She would hate to die looking constipated.

The robber fired.

There was a flash of blue.

And blood splattered all over her shirt.

_ And it was brand new too. _

Pacifica yelled and punched the robber in the face.

She was pretty sure that she had just broken her thumb. Note to self, thumb goes on the outside.

Determined stumbled backwards and landed on his back in the pile of glass. He screamed in pain. 

Then the rest of the fishtank fell down on top of him, and he was silent.

Pacifica wanted to say a cool one-liner, like, “And stay down,” or “Tanks for nothing,” (okay, maybe she wouldn't go with the second one,) but then Dipper groaned.

She sprinted over to him and crouched down. “Starboy! You okay?!”

Dipper didn’t really turn towards her so much as flop in her vague direction. “No.”

“What’s wrong? Break your nose or something?”

Dipper lifted up his shirt, revealing an absolutely sculpted six-pack.

Covered in a red liquid that seemed to be leaking from his side.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You’ve been shot.”

“Bang,” Dipper agreed, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Pacifica’s mind raced.  _ This is bad. Thank you, mind, for stating the obvious. Shut up, mind.  _

The teller was dialing 9-1-1, hands shaking.  _ Hospital? Yeah, that’s a safe bet. _

Then Dipper jerked himself up. “No hospitals,” he murmured, then went back out.

_ He’s losing blood _ , the rational part of her brain argued.  _ Of course he needs a hospital _ .

The impulsive side said,  _ Get him out of here. _

Pacifica went with her gut. It changed her life, just a little bit.

She hauled him up and carried him over her shoulder. She was pretty proud of herself for doing that. Starboy was no featherweight.

“You’re so strong,” he mumbled, then giggled a bit and was still. 

“Don’t mention us,” Pacifica told the teller, who nodded, pale-faced. “Kid, you alright? How’s your ma?”

“She’s un-conk-us!” the little guy said cheerfully. “She’ll wake up! Thank you!”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell the cops we were here, okay?”

“Okay! Gorney’s got your back!”

“Er, thanks.”

And with that, Pacifica hauled Dipper out the door. She plopped him into the golf cart, and made sure that he didn't slump over. She hopped into the driver’s seat, placed an arm over Dipper’s chest in the same way that a mother would with her kid, or a pizza delivery guy with his pizza, and sped off.

-

Dipper didn’t really remember the trip to Pacifica’s house, but screw him. It was Pacifica’s turn for the narrative focus!

Of course, before he totally blacked out, Dipper managed to remember to do one thing. He shifted the sweater away from his gut. There was a slight flash of silver, then blood started flooding. The pressure was gone. 

Dipper managed to focus at least a little bit, and his finger started glowing blue.  _ This is gonna be nasty _ , he thought resignedly to himself.

Pacifica looked over. “What-what are you doing?” she asked, a tremor in her voice.

He grinned at her. “Practicing my fingering skills.”

Then he plunged his finger into the wound. It slid in with a satisfying  _ squelch _ . Pacifica nearly tumbled out of the cart. “ _ JESUS!” _ she yelled. 

Dipper dragged it back out, and it was covered in blood. The bullet was stuck to the end. “Top-notch,” he said, winking at her deliriously. “What’d I tell ya?” He flicked the blood-covered bullet at her in the same way that a third-grader would flick a piece of paper at his classmate.

Okay, mission one achieved. What was mission two?

Oh, right.

Dipper ignited his hand with a blue fire. Pacifica noticed earlier this time. “No,” she warned, a touch of hysteria in her eyes. “Do not. No, no no no no no no no-”

He took a deep breath, and shoved it on the wound.

The scream echoed across the town. Pacifica nearly swerved off the road. Dipper passed right out again, his still-smoldering hand laying limply to his side. His gut wound was severely black and red.  _ The idiot had tried to cauterize himself,  _ Pacifica realized.

-

“He what?” Gideon demanded. “He  _ set himself on fire _ ?”

“Yeah, basically. He seems fine now.”

They both glanced over to the sofa. Dipper was asleep on his back. Pacifica wondered if there was a difference between  _ sleeping _ and  _ unconscious _ . She asked Gideon.

“Not really. I'd say he’s more in a medically asleep way instead of a normally-asleep one.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, for one thing, he passed out when he’s not tired. He’s been in a lot of pain. And he seems like a snorer.”

“‘M nat a sn’r’r,” Dipper mumbled from the couch. Gideon jumped about a foot in the air. Pacifica yelped, then raced over to kneel next to the couch.

“You’re awake.”

“On the outside,” he agreed groggily. He looked at himself. “Did I get shot?”

“Er…”

“Awesome!” 

“Awesome?” Gideon asked as he walked over. “That’s pretty un-awesome.”

“What happened to the robber dude?”

“Arrested,” Pacifica told him. “The bank teller called the cops. Then we bailed.”

“Ooh, we’re fugitives!” Dipper seemed a bit more awake now. He was also out of his gourd.

Pacifica paled. “Oh god. We are.”

Gideon snorted. “Yeah, I’m terrified that Officer Tats will be busting down our door.”

“I should get another tattoo,” Dipper mused. “I mean, I’ve already got one.”

Gideon and Pacifica looked at Dipper, then at each other.

“It’s kinda got a cult-y vibe to it, though. Really drives off people.”

“It lets you shoot fire from your hands,” Pacifica said drolly.

There was a beat. “I can shoot fire from my hands?! Man, I should get shot more often!”

Gideon went to the kitchen and came back with a purple pill and some water. “This will let you shoot fire from your feet, too,” he told Dipper solemnly. 

He chugged the water, then dry-swallowed the pill. “I can’t wait!”

Within thirty seconds, he was asleep. “NyQuil,” Gideon explained off of Pacifica’s glare. “He’ll be out for a while. And in that while, I have got to take a shower. Mabel will be here any minute.”

“There’s a kid that shoots fireballs out of his hands laying on our couch, shot, and he just cauterized himself. We just gave him terrible,  _ terrible  _ first aid. You just drugged him. And you’re more worried about a date?”

“He’ll be fine,” Gideon scoffed, then adopted a fairly-impressive British accent. “And my priorities are  _ impeccable _ , darling.”

“Almost as impeccable as your stupid accent,” Pacifica said. She sat down on the blue leather chair across from the couch. Dipper was snoring -  _ so he is a snorer _ \- as he sprawled out on the couch. “And then there were two,” she narrated out loud.

“Mmrph,” Dipper said as he rolled over, giving Pacifica an ample view of the injury on his ribs. It… looked unexpectedly clean. Pacifica had seen burn victims before when her uncle had brought her along to his volunteer fireman adventures, but none looked like this. 

Ordinarily, burn wounds looked like melted wax. If it was on a limb, occasionally the bones would be visible. On the off chance that the wound actually healed (and by “off chance”, the odds were astronomical), the black wound and crispy flesh never faded.

Pacifica also found that people with bad burns smelled like fried chicken. She didn’t quite know what to make of that.

As she watched, a blue speck of light ran up and down the wound, just barely visible unless you were looking for it. The wound seemed to pale just a bit as it returned to Dipper’s normal pale skin. The wound, in the shape of a hand, had previously covered his entire side, but had shrunk to a spot on his ribcage. 

As Pacifica watched, her leg began to tingle a bit - the leg that she had wounded a week ago. It was almost poetic how first Dipper let her in to his home to heal. Now Pacifica was doing the same. 

Then Dipper randomly said, “Mama, I don’t wanna go to school,” and the moment was gone.

“Whelp,” Pacifica sighed, leaning back. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.” She grabbed the remote, turned on the TV, and flipped over to the news.

“-the robber was apprehended after, it appears, the bank’s fish tank fell on his head,” the reporter said into the camera. Behind him, a soaking wet Determined was hauled into a cop car, babbling incessantly.

“We have two eyewitnesses on the scene. One woman is being treated for a possible concussion, as she passed out after she saw the gun. The teller refuses to say anything.” The reporter walked over to the young boy, now grinning from ear-to-ear. “Sir, is there any chance you can tell us what you’ve seen?”

The kid - Gorney - said, “Wouldn't you like to know, weather-boy?!”

The reporter’s face went blank for a second, then he put his hand on his forehead. “Back to you at the studio, Tom,” he groaned. “Where’s my Advil?”

“Thank you, Jerry,” the newscaster said. “And now, time for Six Hours Of Kittens!”

A picture of a kitten popped up. It was adorable.

Pacifica turned off the TV and slumped back in her chair, exhaling in relief. They were safe for a bit at least.

Then Dipper’s pocket started vibrating. Pacifica briefly wondered if it was more magic, then realized that it was his phone. Pacifica walked over and crouched down next to the couch. “Okay, don’t be getting the wrong impression,” she sternly told the still-unconscious Dipper, and reached into his pocket. She dug out the phone.

The caller ID picture was one of a crusty old man, a pair of rabbit ears on his head and a playfully-grumpy scowl on his face. Next to him, also with a pair of bunny ears on, was a wide-grinning Dipper. He couldn’t have been more than ten.

_ GRUNKLE STAN, _ read the letters above the picture. Against her better judgement, she pressed the green answer button and pushed the phone against her ear. 

“Kid,” barked the voice on the other end of the line. Stan’s voice sounded exactly how she would have imagined it based on the picture. “You alive? You missed practice.”

Pacifica stayed silent for a second.

“Your silence says that you’re either thinking of an answer or someone else has the phone.”

“Uh, this is Pizza Hut. How can we help you?”  _ Okay, that was probably the dumbest thing I’ve tried in a while. _

There was dumbfounded silence on the other end of the line. “...you’re the blonde chick from a while ago.”

“How do you know?”

“You sound like a blonde.”  _ Unbelievable. _ “Anyway, is he alive?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Is he safe?”

Pacifica looked at him. The scar had shrunk even more, and he was now snoring contentedly. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s all I need to know,” was the gruff reply. 

“...okay, then, hanging up now,” Pacifica said, trying her hardest to get out of the most awkward conversation of her life.

“Wait, Blondie!” Stan said before she could hang up.  _ Absolutely. Un. Be. Lievable.  _ “I got a favor to ask.”

“Um, sure.”

“Be nice to him, will you?” Stan asked. It was a pretty simple request, but Pacifica didn’t really have an answer. “Our favorite idiot isn’t much with people. You seem to be his friend. Do me a favor and stay that way, will you?”

“We’re not friends!” Pacifica said, way too quickly.

Stan laughed. “Is that why you’re answering his phone?”

He hung up before she could answer.

Pacifica leveled a glare at Dipper, then tossed the phone onto him. It bounced off the couch cushion and flopped onto Dipper’s back. He didn’t wake. “Your whole  _ freakin’ _ family is just  _ full _ of  _ jerks! _ ” She stalked off to her closet to get another sweater, still complaining the entire way. Gideon was singing too loudly in the shower to hear her griping.

She flopped onto the recliner, still grumbling to herself about how  _ We’re not friends _ and  _ Senile old man _ . Within thirty seconds, she was asleep.

-

Pacifica woke with a jerk when the front door slammed shut. “I'm awake!” she yelped.  _ Someone’s in the house _ , she realized.  _ Gideon? _

There was a  _ thunk _ , and a female voiced cursed.

“Not Gideon,” Pacifica said under her breath, and picked the lamp up off of the couchside table.

Dipper was awake too, mumbling, “Hrrrgh. Whrr ‘m I?”

Gideon was already running down the hallway, dressed in a nice polo, frantically combing his hair up. “She’s here! She’s here!”

“Seriously,” Dipper said, slurring his words less. “Where am I?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” Gideon said. “Hi. Go back to sleep.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dipper let his head fall back on the couch. Pacifica set the lamp back on the table and smacked her hand on his forehead. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

“Making sure you don’t have a fever,” Pacifica told him. “Now relax.”

“You’re not my mother.”

Pacifica took her hand off. “Fine. Die. See if I care.”

“ _ Thank _ you. I’m dying on my own terms.”

“Oh.” Pacifica turned around, and there, in all of her blue-suited glory, was Mabel Pines. “My. God.”

She walked up to Pacifica, and she was too stunned to react. Mabel towered over Pacifica, which was not unimpressive - Paz stood at a solid five-eight.

Her face was unreadable. Was she upset over the fact that Pacifica had basically kidnapped her brother and was letting him bleed out on her couch?

Suddenly, Mabel’s face broke out into a grin that brightened the Western coastline up. “I  _ love _ your sweater!” she squealed. “What material is it?”

Paz decided to roll with it. “Gator skin,” Pacifica answered proudly, grinning right back.

On the couch, Dipper rolled off in surprise. “Why do you have a gator-skin sweater?!”

“Do you not have one?” Mabel called over at him. She threw a purple shirt at him, then turned back to Pacifica. “Thank you so much for taking care of his puny ass. I would have gotten him sooner, but-”

Pacifica quickly waved her off. “It’s perfectly fine! I kinda owe him for last time, with the-”

“With the Corgi-thing?”

“Yeah, that and he kinda saved me at the bank.”

“Please. I’m sure you saved him.”

“Well, just a little bit.”

Dipper sputtered indignantly. “A little bit?!”

Both of the girls pointedly ignored him. “So you and Gideon, huh?” Pacifica asked excitedly. “What are you two’s plans for the night?”

“Oh, just some food. I’ll have him home by-”

“No no no, keep him for as long as you want!”

Gideon stood next to Dipper as the two of them watched the girls chatter on and exchange phone numbers. “That,” he said, “is unnerving.”

The only thing Dipper could say was, “Yep.”

Finally, Mabel said, “Well, this has been fun! I’ll see you around more, I hope!”

“Oh, yeah, definitely!” Pacifica watched as Gideon offered an arm to Mabel, who, despite towering over him, took it gracefully, and the two walked off into the night. 

Before they got too far, Dipper yelled from the front door, “Hey, Gleeful!” Gideon turned around. “Whatever you do to her, I’ll do to you.”

Gideon stammered, “Uh, do you want my other arm? Because-”

“Keep walking, Gideon!” Pacifica called as she dragged Dipper back inside the Shack. She slammed the door shut. “Will you leave him alone?”

“He is going out with my  _ sister! _ I actually have an excuse to be an asshole to him!”

“That… is actually a slightly-valid excuse, I guess.” Pacifica took a deep breath. “Now, do you need a ride back to your house?”

“No, but you and me are gonna need a ride to the diner,” Dipper stated flatly. Pacifica raised an eyebrow. “It’s a Pines family tradition that whenever someone saves our lives, we get them food.” Dipper marched out the door. “Where’s your stupid golf cart?”

Ignoring the insult to her beloved cart, Pacifica jogged after him. “So you admit that I saved your life.”

Dipper must have realized that he walked right into that one. “A little bit. I had it under control.”

“Is that why you had a fish tank fall on your head?”

“I had it… 80% under control.”

“Oh, eighty percent. I guess I should have just left you there.”

Dipper hopped into the passenger seat of the cart. Pacifica started it up, and off they drove, still arguing.

Behind them, a nasal voice sighed. “If they don’t stop arguing with each other, this is gonna be a long couple of months.” A man with an eyepatch shimmered into existence. Waddles, who had been meandering the backyard while he waited for Dipper to leave, saw him, gave a fearsome piggy roar, and charged. Bill yelped, and with another shimmer, he was gone again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. It's been about six months. I have no excuses. This isn't even a good chapter or anything, I don't know why it took so long to write. Next chapter will hopefully be out quicker. No promises. Feel free to yell at me in the comments. Enjoy.

**Author's Note:**

> Damn you, Jim Butcher. For the last month, I've been reading his series called The Dresden Files. Great story, awesome characters, but I kinda haven't been super motivated to write. Now that I've got the first story out of the way, I figured I would outline my goals for the series.  
> One thing I like about the Reverse Falls universe is that it's flexible. I can make the characters however I want them, within limits. It's nice to have a guideline.  
> You may have noticed that Dipper is a bit different in his portrayal here than in everywhere else. I always thought that his whole "superior to thee" relationship with Pacifica was a little creepy, so I made him a pissed-off, fire-slinging snarker so he isn't as perfect as usual.  
> Mabel is a lot like her regular counterpart, except, you know, a little more unhinged. For the record, I don't ship Mabel and Gideon in the regular 'verse, but in this one, I think that a relationship between them would be cute.  
> Stan and Soos are, essentially, the same, except Stan is closer with Dipper here and Ford is closer with Mabel. Ford, for the time being, is more of a composite between his regular form and the Medic from Team Fortress 2. Crazy, but fatherly... or so it seems.  
> The direction I want to take this series in is a little darker than it seems so far. Right now, it's mostly a ship fic (yes, they'll get together eventually), but as time goes on, I want it to get a little more story-driven.  
> And for the record - McGuckett will return eventually. One of these days, I'm going to go back and rewrite Robbie's character, because that's the only thing I'm disappointed with in this story so far.  
> Please leave some reviews if you want. I'm not saying that I need positive encouragement to function, I'm just saying that... okay, basically I do.


End file.
